


Annoying Friends Are No Less Annoying When They Come With Benefits

by printfogey



Category: Gintama
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 19:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/printfogey/pseuds/printfogey
Summary: Gintoki and Katsura attempt to pick up an old habit from their teenage years, whether it's wise of them or not. Set early in canon time, pre-Benizakura arc.





	Annoying Friends Are No Less Annoying When They Come With Benefits

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta [Tonko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonko/), who despite not being into Gintama has been endlessly patient, thorough, and encouraging. ♥
> 
> Any remaining errors are my fault alone. Constructive criticism (including pointing out typoes I've missed) and other feedback is much appreciated and welcome!
> 
> DISCLAIMER since I'm old school: The characters of Gintama belong to their creator Hideaki Sorachi. They are used here without permission for entertainment purposes only. This fic is not to be used for profit in any way and should not be reposted elsewhere without the writer's approval.

Much, much later, when Gintoki had finally come clear to Tatsuma, if not yet to anybody else (while still carefully ignoring hints from a few other people that they might have guessed already), he couldn’t explain too well how it all had started. Or re-started, which might a better way to put it.

“Ain’t that much to tell,” he muttered with a shrug. “We just went drinking together one night, and things went on from there. It just happened, that’s all.”

It had been not too long after the whole thing with Saigo’s bar went down. Gintoki had just gotten the latest version of his Lake Toya bokuto in the mail from the Amanto mail order company that made those things, after he’d spilled curry on his previous one. That plus being paid for the latest job had put him in a good mood, so he stepped out to get a few cheap drinks. Not too many this time around, he’d told himself, for sure – he’d be good and save the rest for food, rent, and dog food.

Only a couple of minutes after he entered the bar, someone sat down next to him, though there were plenty of free seats. He looked up.

“Oh, it’s you, Zura.”

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura.” Zura snapped his fingers dorkily at the bartender and ordered a cheap bottle of sake.

“You don’t usually hang out in this kind of place. Unless your tastes have changed.”

“Can’t I want to have a glass on occasion?”

Gintoki made a dismissive gesture. “Tch. And you just happened to pick mine?” He was almost positive Zura wanted to discuss something with him. Probably trying to recruit him to his faction again. 

“I saw you going in here from down the street,” Zura explained. “That reminded me that it’s been some time I had a drink, especially with a friend.”

Gintoki turned his head and look around. “Can’t see anyone like that around here. Delusional as always, Zura.”

Zura kicked him on the shin. Ow. “Just for that, I’m not sharing my bottle with you,” he said with a humph.

“Oh, come on!” protested Gintoki. “It’s not like you can finish it off by yourself! You’re a featherweight, with all that empty fluff in your head! You drink like an anti-fish!”

“How despicable to denigrate a comrade’s drinking prowess just to mooch off of him! As to be expected of a permhead reprobate who’ll drink till he passes out.”

They went on like that for a while, with fairly low-key bickering and drinking. No recruitment speech or attempt at bribing Gintoki to do something came forward from Zura, to Gintoki’s surprise. Maybe the guy really was just feeling lonely, then. Of course he did wind up sharing his booze with Gintoki all the same: he’d have had to be angry for real not to do that. 

Gintoki noticed after a while that Zura had moved a little closer since he first sat down. But he did so in a careful kind of sideways manner, angling his head towards Gintoki in several different, weighing ways, while still sitting as upright and proper as always. He didn’t seem anxious, exactly. But he reminded Gintoki of a cat or a dog trying to get used to the changes of smell in a person who's been gone for a long time.

It was starting to get on Gintoki’s nerves. If Zura kept on like this for much longer, Gintoki might just end up grabbing his dumb face and kissing him out of frustration, saying something like, _You stupid wig, just get used to me being around already._ The thought made his cheeks heat up, more than the alcohol was already doing, and he hid himself behind his glass of beer and a sour look in Zura’s direction, not that Zura seemed to care or notice. 

Might not be that wise to take up that habit from their teenage years again, though. They’d had no idea of what they were doing, then, just a couple of dumb kids who were also war leaders, trying to find some confused release when they could. Now they were dumb adults instead, and the war was over. 

Over for Gintoki at least, but not so much for Katsura. Really, if anyone should be careful and weighing here it should be Gintoki, shouldn’t it? Gintoki wasn’t the one who’d manipulated the other into committing terrorism so he could be branded an outlaw and have no choice but to join Katsura’s faction of the current Jôishishi. That part had been cleared up with the authorities by now, but it still gave Gintoki a bad taste in his mouth knowing what Katsura was up to these days.

Gintoki had made his feelings on the subject clear, though. And at least there hadn’t been any bombs in the Space Terminal yet – or even, now when Gintoki thought of it, anywhere else for a while now according to the news. 

And later Zura had helped him out against the Harusame when they kidnapped the kids, making up for the earlier mess. They’d competed on television over the best alien pet, and then there was the whole okama bar ordeal and helping out Saigo’s son. They’d squabbled and bickered and argued and they’d fought side by side. So Gintoki knew.

Zura was going down the wrong path, but he was still recognizably _him_. It wasn’t like with Takasugi at all.

So finally, when he’d drunk enough to stop thinking too much, he just poured some sake that was left at the bottom of his own bottle into Zura’s cup. “Geez, stop giving me that look, idiot.” 

Zura looked confused, but raised the cup and drank. “What look?” 

_Your stupid careful look, that’s what._ “One that says you can’t let your tight ass relax enough. What’s the matter? See any cops on the premises? See any widow you want to charm?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” said Zura haughtily. “I am too relaxing.” He drank more deeply from the cup. “Although in these troubled times none of us should relax too much…oof.” Gintoki had driven a fist into Zura’s cheek.

“Just drink,” he said. 

They left the bar together not long after that, all the while squabbling as if neither of them wanted to leave with the other one. That was normal. Gintoki got a nice feeling in his stomach from knowing that was normal, now.

"Let me just... you have a smudge on your cheek..." Zura was leaning on Gintoki’s shoulder under a street lamp, pulling out a handkerchief and aiming it at his face. "Ah, where was it..."

Gintoki swatted at him. "Stop that, idiot. You're drunk." Gintoki didn’t feel completely sober himself, but at least he was steadier on his feet than Zura right now.

"I'm _not_ drunk! I'm not more drunk than you are!"

"You're drunk because you're a lightweight, you don't drink enough usually. Stop wiping at my face! What are you, my mother?"

"There's a smudge," muttered Zura stubbornly. "Or is it a mole? Did you go an' get a mole, Gintoki? ...No, there, it's off." He smiled in brief triumph, his face real close to Gintoki now, before the smile vanished. For a short moment they just looked at each other. The next moment his lips were on Gintoki's, tasting of cheap booze.

It was a brief, almost chaste kiss, lips only slightly parted. Zura broke it off quickly, looking at Gintoki rather blankly for a second. He let go of Gintoki’s shoulders as if ready to take a step back.

Instead, Gintoki grabbed Zura’s shoulders and kissed him back, going deeper than Zura did and for a bit longer. Didn’t hurry it, but he also didn’t drag it out. As he broke it off, he expected there to be a voice at the back of his head objecting to this move, and was somewhat surprised to find there wasn’t. 

A few moments later they were by the wall in an alley, away from the streetlamp, without Gintoki being too clear on who had led who there. _I suppose we’re doing this, then,_ he registered. _Me and Zura. I suppose it’s fine._

He put a hand on the wall to steady himself and another on Zura’s shoulder, sneaking under the collar of his kimono. “So, I guess by now you’re relaxed, huh?” he said in a low tone, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. 

Zura looked as serious as ever as he grabbed hold of Gintoki’s kimono on one side and his black shirt on the other by the shoulders. Not in a sexy way, alas. “Gintoki,” he said urgently. “This wasn’t calculated. I truly was just meaning to have a drink with you, not-- And you really did have a smudge on your cheek.” He poked Gintoki on that same cheek.

For some reason this declaration was just what Gintoki wanted to hear right then, whether it was true or not. He grinned, his confidence soaring. “Dumbass. Like I’d care. I’m the one who poured booze into you, remember?” 

He leaned closer, and Zura let go of Gintoki’s right shoulder to instead hold him by the back of his head as he met him halfway. The kiss took longer this time, more languid, more sure of itself. Besides the booze breath, Gintoki could smell Zura’s lavender-scented shampoo. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose, tension leaving his body as he exhaled. A delicious tingling sensation rose from the soles of his feat and up through the back of his body until it reached the top of his head, making him feel like his hair was standing up. Zura had one hand moving from shoulder down his back, stroking it, making Gintoki swallow and feel his cheeks heat up from more than just alcohol. The other hand was digging through Gintoki’s hair in circular movements that felt so damn good Gintoki knew he would refuse to ever tell him how much he liked that.

He dipped his head down to kiss and nibble at Zura’s neck and down where it met his shoulder, lifting up the edge of his kimono just slightly, breathing in his skin. He pushed him against the wall for better leverage, the other hand stroking his side. And he just wanted to dive into all of this, the scent of shampooed hair and the sordid smell of the alley, the touch of cheap, sensible cotton, while sensing the sinewy hidden muscles underneath it; the alcohol in his system and Zura’s, such a handy excuse for blaming both your spinning head and your lowered inhibitions -- he wanted to go underwater in the moment and not come back for ages. 

Eventually, Zura muttered, the next time they stopped kissing, “We probably shouldn’t do this right here.” He sounded reluctant and perhaps even a little resentful that he had to be the one to point this out. One hand was still on Gintoki’s butt, though.

Gintoki sighed, couldn’t help but feel disappointed, even if he had to agree. He supposed neither of them were horny enough to go at it right here in the alley, where some policeman going the rounds with a lantern or flashlight might catch them.

But then again, they couldn’t actually go home to either place, could they? He had Kagura back at his place, and Zura had that weird giant duck-penguin-whatever thing. Talk about a boner-killer.

He blinked to feel Zura’s hands on him again before realising he was just trying to help him smooth and adjust his rumpled clothes. “Oi, you’re drunk. Stop that. No-one will care,” said Gintoki, picking his nose. “No, I’m not going to wear it like that!” he added as Zura tugged at his right kimono sleeve. “It’s supposed to hang loose!”

“Whaddya mean, s’posed to?” grumbled Zura, tugging for a few more seconds, then let go and smoothed out his own kimono instead. “It’s not proper!”

“A main character’s gotta look distinctive!”

“You already have your perm for that,” Zura pointed out. Then he got a dumb smile on his face as if he’d seen a fluffy animal, but instead he patted Gintoki on the head. “Stupid permhead.”

Gintoki headbutted him. “Zuuura, don’t be weird.” Ow. Too damn hard a head.

Zura rubbed his head and frowned blankly. “‘S Katsura.”

They walked most of the way home together, Zura only splitting as Gintoki entered his home street, disappearing into the shadows without saying anything. 

 

***

The first time they had sex again was about a month later on. Zura invited Gintoki over to his new flat saying it had a good view, he shouldn’t miss it. There was no telling how long Zura would be able to hang onto it, after all. When Gintoki arrived (after climbing seven flights of steps to the fucking attic), and noticed that Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen, and then Zura explained she was staying with a friend that night, Gintoki was pretty sure what was in the air.

But as for now, he flopped down on the couch, groaning loudly, and lay stretched out there, refusing to move until he could get some goddamn rest and sweets. He actually wasn’t that winded, but he had no energy and a bad need for sugar.

There were some predictable grumblings and insults about “lazy sugar maniac” and “worthless permhead”, making Zura sound uncannily like the old bat. But a few minutes later he brought out a cup of green tea and two mochi which he put in front of his guest silently. Then he sat himself down on the floor at the table with his own cup of tea, spreading a newspaper in front of him and appearing quite absorbed by it.

Gintoki frowned and lay watching the ceiling for a moment, then sat up and started to munch on the mochi. “You got some strawberry milk?” he asked between the bites.

“Of course not,” said Zura. “Only little children whose parents don’t know what’s good for them drink such garbage.”

“Oh oh oh, is that how you want to play it, huh?” he replied testily, food in mouth. “Insulting the drink of the gods, now? That’s so sad, Zura. And unfair. Do I go around shit-talking soba wherever I go? Do I mention it tastes like soggy cardboard and turns people into tight-arsed morons? No I do not.” He picked his nose for emphasis. “Because I have better things to do than looking down on the taste of my fellow men.” Man, did Zura have to just sit and read the newspaper like that when _he_ was the one who’d invited Gintoki over? Talk about rude.

It was also faintly possible that Gintoki was just the tiniest bit nervous and that some part of his tirade was meant to cover that up.

He drummed his fingers on the table. He wasn’t even all that turned on at this point, but the sudden mental image of doing Zura right there on the table while that damn newspaper crumpled and tore underneath him was still distracting.

At least he felt somewhat revived now with more sugar in his blood circulation. He drank his tea once the mochi were finished and took a look around the flat. The size was modest, just the main room, a kitchenette and a toilet, no actual bathroom. The ceiling dipped low at an angle, here directly underneath the roof. Besides the couch and the table, the main room had a TV and a small, worn bookshelf with a few old books and videogames in it. In addition, there was a rolled-up futon in one corner and a closet in another, probably holding both disguises and regular clothes; hopefully not holding any bombs. 

Zura looked up from the newspaper, took Gintoki’s empty teacup and his own, returned them to the kitchenette and then came back with a pair of scissors. He carefully cut out something from the newspaper: Gintoki peered at it and was relieved to see it was coupons for a supermarket, not something political. 

Gintoki took the opportunity to stretch out on the couch again while Zura folded the coupons neatly and put them inside his bottomless sleeves. Then Zura finally got up to put the newspaper away with the recyclable garbage. Looking at him from the corner of his eye, Gintoki felt his movements were just the slightest bit studied. Maybe he was nervous, too. (Not that Gintoki was _actually_ nervous.)

He remembered when they had argued at the Ikedaya hotel. He’d told Zura to stop getting his hands dirty, that it wouldn’t bring anyone back. Had even called him Katsura to show how serious he was. 

_”You’re the one who’s dirty, Gintoki. As soon as times changed, you went over to the other side.”_

Meh. He looked up at the low, sloping ceiling, frowning, didn’t turn his head when Zura returned. That shouldn’t even have to matter, that was over and done with. Nothing to think about. 

He wasn’t sure if he was in the mood, and not sure if he wasn’t. This uncertainty was so annoying.

***

Gintoki was being unusually quiet, and he was frowning as he lay there, as if sulking over something. Really. Katsura had served him sweet things (against his own better judgment), and hadn’t even asked him to move over, even if he would have been entirely in the right to. Just because someone was a guest didn’t mean they could take up the whole couch. What a rude guy.

Was Gintoki getting second thoughts about coming here? It wasn’t like Katsura was going to pressure him into something he didn’t want to do. Perhaps he didn’t want to be compromised, in case of a police raid… Katsura shook his head. In that case he wouldn’t have bothered coming at all. And Gintoki had never been much of a careful type in general. 

Things had gone fine at the bar that time, and right afterwards. However, that could have been a one-off occurrence, helped on by alcohol. Gintoki might well not be interested in anything more than that, now that he was sober and some time had passed.

Even so, though… Katsura had a feeling Gintoki wanted to be come onto, right now, as he lay there so lazily. Whether he would then reciprocate or make fun of him was another matter.

So naturally he threw the nearest object at his head -- it happened to be the remote control, which Gintoki managed to deflect with a yelp -- and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Here I am indulging you with your unhealthy sweet tooth, and how do you repay me? Lying there taking up the whole couch, drooling sugar on the pillow, you dirty slob! Also, I hear you’ve been fraternizing with the enemy.”

Gintoki finally looked back at him, probably happy to flaunt his dead fish eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know you think I’m the dirtiest thing alive,” he drawled. “What enemy?”

“Police scum. You hang around them a lot. That’s not going to give you anything but grief in the end.”

“Eh, they’re obnoxious idiots, sure, but you’re exaggerating. Besides, I’ve done my fair bit of trying to knock some sense into those hard heads. You should be thanking me for it.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” humphed Katsura, flicking a strand of hair over his shoulder. “But all right, it’s not like you will listen to me. Just don’t come crying to me once you get burnt by that unprincipled lot.” He paused, that other thing Gintoki had said sinking into his head. He stepped closer, sitting down on the table and pushing it back a little to get more room for his legs. “I never said you’re the dirtiest thing alive or anything like that,” he added in a lower tone, more serious. 

Gintoki put his arms behind his head, closing his eyes. “Sure sounded like it before. Yadda yadda not following bushido, yadda yadda trying to survive in this corrupt word. Whatever. Not like I care about your dumb nonsense.”

Oh. That time. “I was overly harsh,” Katsura admitted. “You’re more complacent than I would like, and you’ve never been the cleanest man on Earth, but… I’d pick some other word to describe you now.” 

“Yeah?” Gintoki picked his nose and opened one eye to look up at him, in a way that looked both bored and challenging. Typical Gintoki. “So what word would you use now, Zura?” 

“It’s Katsura. But… I might say, oh, scratched up. Tarnished. Rusty… Hidden.” Katsura reached out to let a finger trail down Gintoki’s cheek. _Safe. Impossibly precious._

Gintoki grunted. “Nothing wrong with hidden. Lets you survive.” Without looking up at Katsura, he took hold of that hand and stroked it upwards, from palm over wrist to the upper arm. The touch was light, barely more than a flutter. “It’s not like being a bomb demon is any better than being a handyman.”

Katsura was silent for a few seconds. Then he said, inching closer to the couch, “I’m reconsidering that. The big bombs, at least. There have been too many innocent people hurt. Too much collateral damage… We risk losing the population’s support if we keep on like that.”

A voice from a recent memory echoed in his head, of Ikumatsu talking of her husband’s death in low, quiet tones: dignified and weary, with suppressed anger. _If you can’t even save what’s in front of you, how can you save a country?_

“We’ll stick to just property damage instead,” Katsura continued now. “Carefully targeted. Smaller bombs, better control. And… whatever else that needs doing. I’ll figure it out.”

“Mhm.” Gintoki finally tugged at his sleeve in a beckoning gesture. Katsura moved over to the couch, then, stretching out on top of Gintoki, resting his head by his shoulder.

“It’s better that way,” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” agreed Gintoki, fingers running through Katsura’s hair. They were silent for a few moments. 

“Did you bring anything?” asked Katsura.

“You mean like, condoms and stuff? Ehh, I would have, but I’m dead broke. Honestly.” He shifted position, leaning his head back like a cat, showing off his adorable neckline. “Besides, I didn’t know till I got here that you’d got rid of that duck-thing.”

“Elizabeth isn’t a thing!” Katsura protested. “And I didn’t get rid of her, she’s just somewhere else for the night.”

Gintoki gave him a weighing look. “Uh huh. You know, she _is_ an Amanto, though.”

“Yes. But like I told you before, she’s an innocent creature.”

Gintoki blew out a puff of air through his nostrils. “Kagura’s an Amanto too, you know.”

“And she is an innocent child. What are you trying to say, Gintoki?”

Another half-lidded look, then Gintoki turned his head and picked his nose. “Then there’s Catherine,” he said lazily, “that homely catgirl who works at Otose’s Snack Bar. _She’s_ no innocent - she stole from Otose and others before, but the old bat was determined to give her another chance. That girl’s just a good-for-nothing. Like me.”

“You always call yourself that, and it’s such nonsense,” sighed Katsura. He shifted, putting his head on the other side, listening to Gintoki’s heart through his clothes. “I don’t care about reformed thieves here or gluttonous girls there,” he said. “They’re not the problem. They’re not the ones with power.”

“Hhh.” Gintoki just exhaled deeply.

“Since when do you talk politics in bed, anyway?”

“I didn’t want to, but I got dragged into it, didn’t I?”

“I tried, but you made sure to drag yourself out of it again,” said Katsura with a sigh. A pause. He raised his head and crawled up so that they were face to face, leaning in so close their noses almost touched, inhaling that sugary breath. “Are you not in the mood?”

“Um… I… Um.” Gintoki cleared his throat, squirming a little. His cheeks grew pinker. “What about you? Do you have any of that stuff?”

Katsura drummed his fingers on Gintoki’s chest. “Well, I would if I could. But I’m broke, too.” He wanted to kiss him -- this angle was nice -- but it didn’t seem quite the right moment yet. “But we could do something else.” 

Gintoki brought his own hand up to wander across Katsura’s back. “I’m not really in the mood for playing UNO.”

“Hmm.” Katsura let his fingers trail through Gintoki’s wonderfully fluffy hair. “Well…”

But Gintoki suddenly interrupted him. “Hey, I never did get a look at that view you were yakking about.” He shoved Katsura up and away to get himself back into a sitting position, then got on his feet. “You don’t want me to leave without that, right?” he said walking over to the window, as if he was bestowing a favour.

 _Dammit, Gintoki._ Katsura sighed again and padded after him. It was too bad he didn’t have any sake at home, he reflected now. That could have been more useful even than lubrication and condoms.

Gintoki pulled the screen that shielded half the window to the side, then stood quiet for a few seconds.“This isn’t bad,” he finally said. “Guess you can see a lot from here.”

Katsura came up to stand beside him and look down and out at Edo at sunset. The window wasn’t wide, so you could hardly call the view a panorama -- but you saw far from up here, all the way out to the bay, the house itself being on top of a hill. Low traditional buildings, modern high-rise flats, and down further in the commercial area skyscraper office buildings: in the gathering dusk, the distant hills were harder to make out than in the middle of the day, and all the lights of the city were beginning to stand out. But the soft twilight with the warm colours of the setting sun still kept the city lights faint at this point. You couldn’t see the Space Terminal from here: it was in the opposite direction, on the other side of the house.

“It used to make me so very angry, looking out at views like this one,” he murmured, hands in sleeves. “The difference between the regular houses for ordinary people… and the huge buildings built by Amanto, owned by Amanto, mainly operated by Amanto as well, making sure we know that us humans are only there on sufferance… I do not like looking at all those glittering lights when I know they’re not truly meant for us. And the electricity that powers it is produced by exploiting both humans and the Earth’s natural resources.”

Gintoki sighed, one arm resting inside his asymmetrical kimono. “You can’t think like that all the time, Zura. You’ll go nuts. More nuts. It’s nice not to stumble all over your feet when you’re out at night, isn’t it? Those lights have a purpose. And some of those new buildings are kinda cool, too. Yeah, maybe they’re mostly owned by bastards, but that was true in the past, too. Rich people, you know.”

“At least in the past the bastards were all our own bastards and not from outer space,” replied Katsura. “But I can’t… I don’t want to feel like that anymore. I’m still angry at all the injustices, but I don’t want to be angry at Edo itself.” There were too many people in it he cared for. 

The sense of responsibility, though, hadn’t changed. If anything, it might be even stronger now than before. 

“Tch. Edo itself, that’s too much,” said Gintoki, scratching the back of his head. “I just care about what’s right in front of me. From day to day, that’s what’s important.”

“Where your sword can reach,” said Katsura. “Well, I--” The thought went unsaid, because now Gintoki pulled him close by the collar and gave him a long deep kiss, right there by the window.

He broke it off, but almost immediately came back for a new one, changing his grip now so that one hand cupped the back of Katsura’s head, the other warm and strong in the middle of his back. It was all Katsura could do to slowly steer them both over to a less open spot with his own arms embracing the other, doing his best to kiss him back.

 _Gintoki, are you trying to seduce me to civilian life?_ he wondered. _That’s not going to work, you know… But I’ll be happy to let you try your best._

“Come on, come on, come on,” he mumbled breathlessly the next time Gintoki broke off the kiss, still nudging him further back, having put back the screen in passing to cover the window. Gintoki was tugging at his haori now, and Katsura helped him get it off. Then he pulled at Gintoki’s first belt in return, opening it easily.

“Ouch! Fuck.” Gintoki rubbed his head -- he’d just bumped it against the sloping ceiling. Oops.

“Sorry about that,” muttered Katsura, offering a rare apology mostly since he wanted things to keep moving along. He threw the belt away across the room to land in the same corner where the remote had gone before. Now Gintoki was pushing at his shoulders, easing him down. Oh, that actually worked nicely -- he followed along to the tatami-clad floor, letting Gintoki sit in his lap, back against the couch.

He tugged at Gintoki's kimono, helping him take it off, and then found himself lumping it together, not neatly at all and without any need for it, as if his hands suddenly needed something to do.

Gintoki’s gaze felt heavy on him. He avoided it and reached up to put the bundled-up kimono on the couch, then looked down at Gintoki’s waist and started to undo the buckle on his second belt, the one that held up his trousers. 

A moment later, he felt Gintoki’s hand over his own, his thumb stroking the inside of his wrist. 

“What?” he said, his tone shorter than he’d intended.

“Zura.” His tone was low, serious. “Just. He leaned forward, whispering, “Just be with me _here_. Don’t go away in your mind. Not now.” 

“...Gintoki?” Katsura looked up. Gintoki was leaning forward, his hair shadowing his red eyes; but even so, Gintoki never showed himself this vulnerable. This was concerning. Katsura angled his own head to try to see him better. 

Gintoki’s other hand was on Katsura’s shoulder blade. Not stroking, right now, just a steadying presence. “It’s okay if you’re spacing out later. Thinking of bombs or cute paws or whatever, I don’t care,” said Gintoki, voice still very low. “But not now.” Something unsaid hanged in the air: Katsura was wondering if Gintoki was going to add, “Or we might as well stop this,” -- he braced himself for it, ready to summon his own persuasive powers, or to declare confidently that of course he was focused, of course he was 100 percent present.

But Gintoki didn’t add anything else. He just pulled Katsura even closer, his chin resting on Katsuras shoulder for a long moment. Katsura felt his warm breath, listened to his breathing, just a little heavier than usual, the weight of his body leaning against his own; and his own body responding to that touch, gathering heat in his head, his chest, his groin… He listened outward, too, to the muffled noises from the rest of the apartment building, and the sounds from the city below, anchoring himself inside a set of widening circles where the innermost one only held the two of them.

What was it Gintoki had said that day at the Ikedaya hotel? _’I’m going to protect what I want to protect.’_ Katsura had been too absorbed by his own goal that day to realize fully that there was more determination than resignation in that statement.

Now he took Gintoki’s hand and leaned it against his own cheek with a small smile. “What a troublesome guy you are,” he mumbled.

Nothing but a snort from Gintoki as he loosened Katsura’s obi, then undid it entirely, leaving the regular kimono and the white underkimono to hang loose. Meanwhile, Katsura finished opening Gintoki’s second belt and unzipped his black shirt. He liked seeing the uncovered torso, but he wanted the rest, too, and nudged Gintoki to co-operate in pulling the shirt off.

He couldn’t keep from smiling again in appreciation and a giddy kind of happiness as his touch re-acquaintainted itself with Gintoki’s bare skin on arms and shoulders and stomach, on his powerfully muscular back and his impressive shonen manga chest (really, how _did_ Gintoki keep himself so in shape in spite of his lazy and sugary lifestyle?), all of it criss-crossed with scars old and new. All of it impossible to look away from, to keep from drinking in with his eyes, to stop himself from stroking and rediscovering every inch of this skin.

That was the plan, at least, and the way Gintoki's breathing quickened was promising too, but he soon huffed impatiently and tugged Katsura’s kimono and underkimono off his shoulders. They fell in a loose heap around him in a rather debauched fashion, cool air moving in on bare skin like tangible anticipation. Gintoki moved off his lap, sitting on the floor so they were face to face, but kept his legs hitched over, holding them together. Gintoki bent down to stroke, suck and nibble on Katsura’s neck and shoulders, hands moving up and down on his sides, his stomach, his back.

Katsura gasped and arched back at the sensation, a suppressed but satisfied _hng_ slipping out. This was so overwhelming. Ah, but, but -- what was it he was going to do, again? He felt sweat on his temples and shoulders, and let out a small whine when Gintoki started to put closer attention to his nipples, rubbing them and then kissing them. His hands clenched Gintoki’s shoulders by reflex, which made Gintoki snicker, giving Katsura no other honest option but to whack him on the head. 

Then he put one hand in Gintoki’s hair, his fingers slowly sinking into the thick fluffy perm, rubbing the scalp, and rising up again. His other hand went down to Gintoki’s butt, which was still clothed in black trousers. This displeased Katsura, but he was momentarily distracted first by a gasp from Gintoki, then an arresting mental image. Oh. That would have been so cute… But what colour?

“White would be best,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Yes, definitely.”

“The hell are you muttering about?” grumbled Gintoki, looking up from Katsura’s chest with an unamused expression. His cheeks were red, though, and there were small pearls of sweat on his forehead. 

“If you were to turn into a catboy, I think white fluffy ears would look best on you,” explained Katsura, scratching Gintoki gently behind one of his actual ears.

Gintoki’s eyes turned more flat and more unamused still. “You do?” A moment later, he erupted, tugging at Katsura’s hair, “Why the hell would I be turning into a catboy, idiot? Goddammit, Zura, keep your furry kink in check! Nobody wants to hear about that shit!”

“Ow!” Katsura retaliated by pulling at Gintoki’s ear. “I was just daydreaming! It would look so cute! What if you’d get paws as well, and a tail -- oh, but should it be a cat-style tail or a fox-style tail? Maybe a fox-boy would be even better-- ow! Stop that!” Gintoki was pushing his fist into Katsura’s face. He grunted and drove his knee into Gintoki’s side. 

“Ow! You stop that, you crazy furry!”

“The Amanto have brought in all kinds of weird diseases to this planet! Why can’t we have at least one _cute_ disease like that? Let a man daydream!” protested Katsura.

“No way! The only one I can accept getting cat ears is Ana Ketsuno!”

“Don’t bring your creepy crush on the weather girl into this!”

“How dare you! My crush on her is perfectly normal and entirely appropriate and understandable! You’re the one being creepy!”

“...Anyway,” muttered Katsura after they’d both subsided, pulling at the top of Gintoki’s trousers, “are you going to get rid of that anytime soon, or what?”

“Don’t rush me, bastard,” said Gintoki as he undid his fly, but with them sitting so close it was easier for Katsura to pull the zipper down, so he did. “You can always help me if you’re that eager.” 

They shifted around just enough for Gintoki to get his trousers off. “Cats aren’t that great, anyway,” said Gintoki, breath shorter now. “Did you -- did you know they’ve got barbs on their dicks? Makes me feel sorry for those poor stupid she-cats, always yowling for it when they’re in heat only to get that nasty surprise at the end. Guess they always forget till next time...” 

The trousers were off, and Katsura tossed them away without looking where they landed. His kimono had fallen off him completely, so that he was only in his loincloth. Gintoki’s boxer shorts were unexpectedly cute, with strawberries printed on.

“Well, if they didn’t forget,” he replied, eyes fixed on those shorts for a moment, “there wouldn’t be any new kittens. Love can be painful…” But before he could start thinking anything else he shut both of them up by leaning forward on his knees and kissing Gintoki again, pushing him back against the couch. Gintoki didn’t protest, just grabbed hold of Katsura’s shoulder and hauled him closer. 

He clasped Gintoki’s right hand with his left and let out a soft moan. Gintoki was kissing him back, his one hand spread out on Katsura’s back, and started to buck at him with a certain wonderful kind of impatience. Katsura felt heady and dizzy, like there was a buzzing tone in the air only he could hear, and he was hot and sweaty everywhere, but that wasn’t important; neither was the fact that his thighs were trembling, or that he suddenly noticed an old stain on his couch that he’d never seen before. Getting this tangled up in Gintoki again made his body feel wanting and warm all over, close now to being fully hard. He started to grind against him. It wouldn't be long now.

Gintoki didn’t seem to be quite there yet. From what Katsura hazily remembered, Gintoki had usually been the most eager yet the last to harden back in the war, too, so that wasn’t cause for sulking or worry -- not yet at least. He shivered with pleasure as Gintoki stroked his back and put another long, sucking kiss on Katsura’s jaw, not caring right now if it would leave a mark. He had to take a deep breath before he could start grinding again, hoping to get to a decent rhythm. A strand of hair fell over his face, lay plastered to his forehead, but he ignored it.

“Zura…” mumbled Gintoki, voice much lower now.

Katsura didn’t actually want to object to that nickname in this particular moment. Years of habit still made it hard for him to simply reply “Yes?”, however. Instead he ground down again, causing a welcome moan in Gintoki, and gave him a questioning look.

The next moment, a hand was on his face. “Mmngingoki?” 

Gintoki moved his hand away from Katsura’s mouth, but his fingers still blocked most of Katsura’s sight. “Zura. You’re here. Right?” 

Katsura couldn’t tell what he truly meant. He didn’t consider himself wise or intuitive enough to guess which exact fields Gintoki’s mind might be roaming across. But he squeezed Gintoki’s other hand which was still holding his, and then brought up his own free hand to Gintoki’s cheek, stroking it. Then he gently took Gintoki’s hand off his face and put it on his chest instead. 

“I’m here,” he whispered. 

“Mmhm.” Gintoki squeezed Katsura’s hand back, and let his other hand roam up and down Katsura’s chest and stomach. His eyes, however, still had a look of veiled sadness to them, in that heavy-lidded mostly-inexpressive Gintoki way. “Yeah. I get it,” he breathed out. 

He pulled that errant strand of hair away from his face before replacing his hand on Katsura's back, and he let go with his other hand to slide it up Katsura's thigh, leaning forward once more to nibble at his lower lip. He bucked against him and then reached down to tug at his loincloth. Katsura’s face was even warmer and redder than before.

It felt awfully good and there was a part of him, a strong part in fact, that just wanted to let Gintoki take the lead at this point. But… more than anything else, he wanted Gintoki to feel happy and to, selfishly, sense that he was the one who’d brought him there. With his own two hands, so to speak. 

So while he didn’t object to Gintoki undoing his loincloth, he nevertheless reached out to pull Gintoki’s boxers down in return. A tuft of curly white hair peeked out first, even more adorable than the strawberry print, and he knew he had a silly smile on his face as he reached out to stroke through that bushy hair and then down on Gintoki’s cock.

Gintoki snorted and then breathed out heavily at the touch. After a long moment where he seemed indecisive, he settled back against the couch, content with just letting one hand rub Katsura’s thigh in circling moments, the other still on his back, tugging him closer.

“Hmm…” Katsura mumbled to himself, “how did this go again…” He was still mostly just touching all that fluffy hair at the base. 

“Oh come on,” said Gintoki, and Katsura didn’t have to look at him to know exactly what kind of face his dead fish eyes were making. “It’s just a dick, nothing complicated. You’ve got one yourself.”

Katsura started to stroke slowly, thoughtfully, in vertical motions from base to tip, more firm than gentle, trying to find a good rhythm. After so long, there was a certain dreamlike quality to this moment. 

“Nggh -- don’t try to tell me you’re too pure to jerk off,” Gintoki continued, “I know you better than that. You’re just as dirty as the rest of us -- ah. Oh.” His eyes closed for a moment, head leaning back.

“Tch,” said Katsura, breathing heavier by now, but encouraged by Gintoki's second sword responding positively to the treatment. “I was trying to remember what _you_ like, idiot. But it looks like I’ve got it,” he added smugly.

Gintoki pulled on Katsura’s hair, and it said something that Katsura couldn’t actually tell if it was in retaliation for smugness, or expression of arousal. In any case, right now he didn’t mind the gesture. He just responded by an even firmer stroke followed by a gentler cupping and rubbing of Gintoki’s balls, not quite yet bringing his own cock in contact.

Gintoki breathed out, “I, um, I-- oh, God, yeah, just like that.” His hands started to wander down Katsura’s back.

Katsura didn’t mind, felt only a slight superficial blush as Gintoki’s hands reached his butt and started to rub it. “You. Ah. Your little guy seems to have woken up properly now,” he noted, pleased to see this. “Ah…” he breathed in and out deeply, doing his best to get ahold of himself again. “Um…” Seriously sweating now. Gintoki had better not say anything about it.

Gintoki’s eyes had started to look hazy and unfocused with desire now, an entrancing sight that made Katsura decide to be merciful even though Gintoki’s next words were a hoarse, “What I like, huh? I like a piece of firm ass in my hands.” He squeezed Katsura’s buttocks and grinned at him. 

“Brave words from a man with his balls in another man’s hands,” remarked Katsura lightly, making Gintoki freeze for a moment. But before he could say anything else, Katsura grabbed him by the shoulder and kissed him once more, needing it. A part in the back of his head was still thinking, “when will be the next time, it might not happen, this could be the last kiss I’ll get from him”. Still in the old war mindset, after all…

But right now, they were here, together, safe for the moment. He drew out the kiss, his other hand still cupped around Gintoki’s balls, then finally moved his hips and started to grind their cocks together; Gintoki kissed back with passion, leaning forward again and pressing them together with his hand moved up Katsura’s back again for better support. He took more control over the kiss and Katsura let him have it, himself fumbling to find a good rhythm for rubbing and grinding, his hand moving to hold their cocks in place for a moment as he shivered violently in pleasure. 

They broke off the kiss, Katsura first gazing down, trying to align himself to Gintoki’s cock better, all dry in his mouth, then using his other hand to swipe his thumb on the top of the cock in several fast, light movements. Gintoki had his eyes closed, his face all heated up. He shifted a little, putting one hand on the floor, some weight onto it. His legs were so hot where they were touching Katsura’s.

“You know,” Katsura confessed, as he rocked against Gintoki in a steady rhythm, lifting his butt up from the floor for better control and to help set a faster pace, trying not to take into too many sensual things at once for his overwhelmed mind, “you know - ah - it’s been a while… I don’t -- aah, _hnng_ , know if I can hold out for all that long--” His sentence went unfinished as his motions were starting to overshoot his thoughts, and he had to summon his strength and take deep breaths so he wouldn’t lose control and start bucking violently, in which case he might just come within seconds. 

“Who the hell cares?” Gintoki burst out, his hand that had been making circles on Katsura’s back now moving to grind his knuckles into Katsura’s head. “We’re not trying to hold a bloody marathon here!”

Oh. That was right. It didn’t have to be amazing, just…

“R-right,” he said, centring himself, stroking slowly up and down the side of Gintoki’s cock. “There’s going to be other times, right?” He must look a sight, he thought, with his hair all sweaty and stuck to his forehead like this.

Gintoki didn’t say anything, not at first, and his face was back to almost normal inexpressiveness in spite of its flushed state; his eyes had cleared themselves of some of that haze now. Then a moment later his hand went through Katsura’s hair as he looked away, muttering, “Tch. Would be dumb if there couldn’t be.” He ground back at Katsura, grunting a little. “Right?” he added.

Katsura rested his head on Gintoki’s shoulder, a small smile spreading on his face. “...I suppose,” he said, breathing out.

Didn’t have to be spectacular. Just good enough -- good enough that they would want to do this again… 

Gintoki shifted position, so Katsura did too, and put himself right in Gintoki's lap. He tried to wrap his legs around, but the damn couch was in the way. Didn't matter, not right now. He reached down to adjust his own cock to lie even more snug against Gintoki’s, sighing with contentment at the new angle. 

“Good?” he whispered.

Gintoki shrugged. “It works,” he said, one hand back to wandering up and down Katsura’s back. Katsura grasped Gintoki’s shoulder and wiped his other hand off from sweat and pre-come, then clasped Gintoki’s free hand. He laced their fingers together and started to move against Gintoki at a steady rhythm, slightly slower than just before. He found himself letting out a rare, helpless giggle at the cool air on his hot, sweaty face, at how ridiculously good it all felt, at how silly he was, how silly Gintoki was, and how he was more close to the edge than he wanted, but that was all right.

Gintoki let out a grumpy sound. “Harder, dammit.” He tightened his arm, trying to press Katsura closer, arching back and up against him. “Augh, you can’t just-- nghh--” 

He must mean the loss in pressure and friction without Katsura’s hand in there. Katsura also felt the reduction in friction maddening in contrast, but he’d still wanted to try it, staving off the climax just a tiny bit more. He drew his other hand through Gintoki’s hair and rubbed his thigh up against his side, keeping up the rhythm. A little more, just a little more now--

This time Gintoki was the one to squeeze Katsura’s hand closer, letting out a low moan and gripping his hair as he moved back against him in a full-body movement that nearly sent Katsura over the edge, but he bit his cheek and managed to keep it together for a bit longer. 

Gintoki gave him a sloppy kiss and bucked up two more times the same way, then finally collapsed as he came. 

He slumped forward, head on Katsura’s shoulder for a moment. Katsura started to unclasp his hand, but instead Gintoki lifted his head again, untangling his own other hand from Katsura’s hair and reached down to grasp Katsura’s cock and return the favour. He was still breathing heavily but much slower now, his head leaning forward with hair over his eyes.

Katsura closed his eyes and gratefully accepted the attention, just rubbing Gintoki’s scalp and inhaling his sugar-breath for the last moments before coming with a slightly embarrassing whimper. 

Only then did he let go of Gintoki’s hand, a little surprised Gintoki hadn’t released it already (too distracted?), and took a few breaths to steady himself. 

“Not a marathon,” he mumbled. “Still, pretty good for two rusty guys.”

Gintoki snorted. “Speak for yourself,” he muttered, settling back against the couch and leaning back in a way that suggested he wouldn't mind not moving for hours.

Katsura reached for his kimono and dug through one sleeve till he found a wad of tissues, cleaning up the worst mess on the two of them. Then he crawled over to recline by Gintoki’s side against the couch. Gintoki was closing his eyes, his heavy breathing slowing down, quieting. Katsura leaned his head on Gintoki’s, and the other man didn’t protest.

Spent and sleepy and content, Katsura couldn’t think of anything that needed saying right then. His sluggish thoughts were hopping from this and that without staying too long on any subject. In the corner of his eye he could see his own rolled-up futon and the spare futon next to it, but he didn’t even turn his head to look at them yet, let alone get up to roll them out. It was fine to just be like this a while more, wasn’t it? He wasn’t even sure if Gintoki would like to spend the night here or not. 

“I dunno why this is okay,” said Gintoki suddenly, his voice still hoarse but with a wry tone now. His eyes were only barely opened, but he moved his arm to rest on Katsura’s shoulder “It feels okay, but - I - don’t - know - why.” He turned his head and punctuated the last few words with kisses on Katsura’s nose, mouth, cheek, and neck. Katsura giggled a little at the neck kiss, not sure why it tickled now when it hadn’t before. 

“No reason it shouldn’t be,” he remarked simply, drowsily. He drew his arm through Gintoki’s hair and smiled again at the feel and at Gintoki’s look of half pleasure, half pretend annoyance. Why, if he wasn’t careful, he’d turn into a tsundere…

“Ah, but… But…”

“But what?”

“But you’re an idiot, Zura.”

“It’s not Zura, it’s-” a gigantic yawn overcame him “-Ka-a-atsura. Futon?” he suggested, hoping the mere question wouldn’t scare Gintoki off.

Maybe it would have done, if Gintoki hadn’t been tired, too. Now he just nodded with his half-lidded eyes, and helped Katsura up by shoving at him. After that, however, he stayed put and let Katsura do the work of getting out both futons, only helping minimally with putting away the table against the wall and then immediately sliding down to where he was while Katsura rolled out the futons and made them. Lazy bastard. Still, he made a fine sight where he was, all naked with his long legs splayed out, cheeks still flush with sated lust and his hair even more messed up than usual, so Katsura didn’t scold him even half as much as he normally would have, just muttered a bit.

But he sank beneath the covers with a satisfied exhale of relief all the same. He raised his head and one hand to beckon Gintoki over. Gintoki was yawning himself now, then shrugged and crawled over on hands and feet, turning off the light on the way there. He threw himself down on the futon and bundled up, his back to Katsura: the night lights of the city came in from the edges of the screened window, making sure they weren’t in complete darkness. For a moment, Katsura thought of the night darkness and starry skies in the countryside of their childhood. 

Then he turned his head, not chasing those thoughts away entirely but not dwelling on them either. Right now all he needed was to find the right sleepy corner of his mind to curl up in. A number of ordinary tomorrow-thoughts passed through his drowsy head: he needed to stock up on groceries for him and Elizabeth, he should prepare for the meeting the day after tomorrow, he should check in with his information network, especially regarding that particular corrupt higher official; what was Takasugi even up to these days? it had been some time before he’d heard anything about his faction; it would be nice to get a working TV again, he should stop by that one second-hand place that seemed to have just about everything; oh wait, what had he been thinking before, about Gintoki?

He reached a decision. “It should be a fox tail,” he announced. “That would definitely look the cutest on you. All white and fluffy.”

“Dammit, Zura, stop that.” Gintoki’s voice was muffled through the blankets; the kick he sent through the blanket felt decidedly half-hearted. Maybe he actually liked the idea! It was a nice thought.

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura.” Katsura mused for another moment, then complained, “My hair is such a mess. I should have combed it before going to bed. It will be even worse in the morning.”

“Good. Then you can cut it all off and get a real wig,” replied the Gintoki-pile.

Katsura huffed. “You’ve said that kind of thing since we were little. You’d just find something else to complain about if that ever happened. Not that it ever would--” He stopped at the sound of police sirens close to the building.

He sat half up, leaning on his elbows, listening intently. Gintoki also fell silent, his still figure and controlled breathing radiating careful tension. 

The sirens retreated into the distance, but Katsura kept up his alertness for several minutes, listening particularly close for any signs of people coming up the stairs. Finally he relaxed his guard and dropped down again.

“It’s nothing,” said Gintoki quietly. 

“I know,” mumbled Katsura, shifting position so he, too, lay on his side, his back towards the other. It was not a rejection. _I trust you with my back, same as always._ This was, he knew, the safest he was ever likely to be.


End file.
